


The Princes That Were Promised

by Echojayden



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), game of thrones
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 08:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13947807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Echojayden/pseuds/Echojayden
Summary: Rhaegar's last breath has left him. Viserys, after being away for some years, has brought back a living dragon from the depths of Old Valyria, a sorceress at his side from Asshai. The Great Council rule in favour for Viserys to be King out of fear and Aegon is forced to flee Kings Landing, hoping to find a safe place North with a family he barely knows...AU where Rhaegar wins on the trident and claims the Iron Throne. His son Aegon Targaryen, birthed from Lyanna Stark, grows up in Kings Landing where he is raised to be King.





	1. Chapter 1

I never expected my father to die. I always assumed he would live forever. I saw him as an unkillable, unflinching machine of logic and power and kindness. He was King of the Seven Kingdoms, with hundreds of songs dedicated to him, a wealth of gold and knowledge tucked away in his personal vault, both mind and physical, and he was one of the most skilled swordsman in Westeros, respected throughout the land. There was no way death could catch up with him and tear down the legacy he had built. However now, as I stood near his bed in a clotted room which burned with heat, his body drenched in sweat as the maester fed him milk of the poppy, something he used to say came back to me.

_No matter low born or high, wealthy or poor, skilled or inept, the same fate follows us all._

I think I understood what he was trying to say at the time. But I never came to believing that it would ever happen to him. That _he_ would die. Some part of my mind believed he was exempt, and that he was simply talking about the common people. Everyone _else._ Maybe it was because I was just a boy back then, naive and full of hope. And though my fifteenth name day was but a few weeks ago, my naivety seemed to be following me through the years.

There was no one else in the room, besides the Grand Maester, my father and I. The balcony doors were open to the sounds and smell of Kings Landing, the bustle in the streets audible, the cry and songs of birds drifting in. It provided small respite knowing the world was full of life. But my eyes never left my father’s anguished face, white hair clinging to his forehead and neck, the shallow beard around his jaw wet with sweat. He had been sick for weeks now, and no one knew why. But just yesterday he looked like he was getting better. We were able to even jest for a good while, his smile broad and healthy. But now…

‘Aegon…’ He rasped with a breath. An arm was outstretched, begging into the air, fingers curled, straining. ‘...Aegon. Come...come here.’

I moved closer. Maester Gerold bowed and moved out the way, packing away the vials and medicines on the bedside table. Rhaegar Targaryen continued to claw at the air, until I took his hand and held it firmly. His purple eyes met mine, and for a moment they were clear.

‘Do you remember?’

‘Remember what?’ I said slowly, feeling my throat tighten.

‘Remember everything I’ve taught you. Do you remember?’

I nodded, even though at that moment I couldn’t think, let alone wind back time to memories of the past.

‘Good. Good. Aegon. Listen. I know you’re scared. I can see it on your face.’ His smile was warm, before a coughing fit took him. He started again. ‘But don’t...don’t worry about me. You have to worry about yourself. I have prepared you your entire...your entire life for this. I know you aren’t ready, but you have to be. After my last breath, you have to be.

‘Outside...all those people in the city...on the streets. They’re your people now, Aegon. I won’t honey the job, son. Being King will be tough. There’ll be long days, even longer nights. But you have the power to change the world where you stand.’ He took a large breath in, grasping for air. His grip hardened, frown deepening, determined to fight back death.

‘I am so proud of the man you have become. I know that for whatever you do, it will be for the good of the realm. Keep your mother's house's words close and dear. Winter is coming. Son, remember those words. You have to be ready. You have to be ready…’ His voice petered out, each breath more of a struggle than the last. His gaze was becoming loose, the hardened steel in his eyes losing its strength.    

‘Father.’ I whispered as he chest rose and fell raggedly. He didn’t respond, but his grip remained strong. ‘Father, I...I love you. I will…’ My throat tightened, tears blurring my vision. ‘...I’ll make you proud. I promise. I promise.’

Rhaegar Targaryen eyelids fluttered open, and he met mine. He smiled, lips curling upwards ever so slightly. I knew for sure then he wasn’t going to die. How could he, looking as confident as he was? But then his hold on my hand grew slack, and his lids covered his sight. His chest remained still, no breath coming from his mouth.

That was the last time the world would ever see the purple eyes of the last dragon.


	2. Chapter 2

They were waiting outside. A line of the Kingsguard, their white and gold armor gleaming, heads down in respect. Small council members were close: Varys, Symound Staunton, Tyrion Lannister, Monford Velaryon, and the Hand of the King, Jon Connington. Daenerys was amidst the rabble as well, peering from the back, eyes finding mine. I missed her gaze, looking away. I couldn’t bare to look at her, or anyone. Even if they didn’t have a problem looking at me.

Nobody said a word. Everybody knew he was dead. Maester Gerold probably told them all.  It wasn’t expected for him to live long anyway, once news came that the fever had gotten worse. But now, there was something in the air, a tangible stickiness. I realised quickly it was from the silence.  _Do I say something? Report he’s dead? Should I make preparations for…_

King. I was going to be King. The words from my father were floating back, words I didn’t want to believe. My chest tightened. I wasn’t ready. How could I be?  _You have to be ready,_ I heard in my head.  _You have to be ready._ Father’s words seemed so far away now.

‘Egg,’ A voice roused me from my thoughts. It was Ser Arthur Dayne, face mournful. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Of course he’s not okay,’ Lord Jon cut through, tone derisive, beard and hair as red as his face. He stepped forward. ‘What do you expect?’ .

Arthur crossed his arms, armor clinking. ‘I wasn’t expecting anything. Only asking.’

Jon waved a dismissive hand. ‘Well keep your stupid questions to yourself.’ His face softened as he turned to me. ‘But Aegon, we need to discuss...matters regarding the realm.’ His eyes flicked to Ser Arthur’s before back to mine. ‘Not here, of course. But in the small council chamber. I know how you must be feeling, but your father wanted you to know a few things once he...passed.’

‘Surely it can wait, Jon. Seven hells, the boy’s just been—,’

‘I know what the boy’s just been through.’ He snapped. The Hand of the King then recomposed himself, running a hand through his hair, tone lightened. ‘That doesn’t mean this isn’t important. Come now, Aegon. This won’t take long, I promise.’

Ser Arthur’s face was twisted in a look of shock and anger, but I moved ahead down the hall. I didn’t have any predilection to anything at that moment. I was a blank slate, no thoughts to be found. No emotion either. Just empty. Empty like a flagon after a long night of drinking. Passing Daenerys reminded me though, reminded me of everything. The way her purple eyes sunk into mine reminded me quickly of father. I pushed my head down to stare at my feet, blinking back the tears.

The other council members thankfully didn’t say anything as they followed, besides Tyrion who quipped, ‘If only  _my_ father could have taken his place. The realm would have been better off that way.’

I wanted to laugh at the morbid joke, I really did, even if it ended up sounding bitter. But something stopped me. Like a valve somewhere inside was blocked.

I could feel their eyes on me as we wandered down the steps, feeling Jon’s most especially. They were best friends, him and father. I wondered how he might be dealing with this. Was he faring better than me? Or maybe this meeting was his own way of dealing with things. Focus on the realm, focus on the Kingdom.  _A Kingdom that has no King._

The small council chamber was cool, a strange distinction to the rest of the keep. At the sight of the table in the middle of the room, I froze. It brought memories of father, sitting at the head, talking steadily with amusement, or in a terse tone when it came to matters of the state. I couldn’t remember much of what he said during those meetings, the words jumbled and lost. But I could remember him. And that was enough.

I took my place, uneasily, at the head of the table, as father would. The rest of the members moved to their respective seats, wood squeaking on stone as chairs were pulled. Everyone looked uncomfortable, and you could feel it as well. The room was damp with a sort of pressure, clinging onto everyone’s backs, the strain evident. Except Varys and Tyrion, who seemed not affected at all. I tried to do the same, to keep my face relaxed but stern. It was the face I saw father normally use.

‘So, to begin. Aegon, as son to Rhaegar Targaryen, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Realm, your claim is first and foremost, as due to a letter written before the King’s death naming you as his heir.’

I sensed a hesitation at the end of Jon’s words. The man had licked his lips in a nervous way. ‘But?’

‘But…’ Lord Jon continued on. ‘...there may be others who wish to push their own claim, calling for a Great Council. Now, we haven’t had a Great Council meeting for nearly sixty years, but time seems to only make folly the minds of good men and women. Elia Martell in Dorne may wish to push for her own son’s claim. He is  _technically_ first in succession, but everyone here in the captial will support your claim than his. You’ve been here all your life, while his mother has seen fit to keep him away. Nevertheless, she’ll want a council called.’

There was a moment where my heart grew lighter.  _I don’t have to be King? The other Aegon can just take my place?_ It felt like the wish I had been hoping for my entire life. But the way everyone was eyeing me around the table, it became obvious those weren’t the words they would want me to say. They wanted me to fight for this Kingdom. My father’s Kingdom. And so, as a prince, I did what was expected of me.

Lie.

‘And during this Council, my claim could be tested?’ I tried to sound worried, but maybe I was trying too hard. Tyrion raised his eyebrows at me, so I avoided his gaze.

‘It could be. It could be. The great lords of Westeros will be coming here to confer, and as of now Elia only has one supporter, that being Dorne. The Westerlands, the Reach, and the Vale will all vote in favour of you, my prince. The Stormlands are least likely however to vote for you, or anyone at that matter. They might not even come at all.’

‘And what of the North?’

‘They don’t normally deal in southern affairs, not unless it affects them directly. The trip is too long, too hard. They would vote for you anyhow. Family is foremost in the North.’

 _Family._ I didn’t know much about my mother. Or her family. Only that they were very far away living in the cold where big bushy men grew in the thousands. I’d always wanted to visit, but father told me my place was here in the capital. That I needed to learn how to lead, not travel.

_Travelling’s for mummers, eunuchs, and dwarves. You are a prince. Future heir to the Iron Throne. Your responsibilities are much greater than any common man._

When he spoke those words I grew envious of Tyrion’s place in the world. I never told him though; it would have only made the dwarf more cocky than he already was.

‘And when will this Great Council be happening?’

‘A few weeks. Perhaps less. Elia is already riding here with her brother Oberyn in tow. And Aegon. Rhaynes has been left to stay behind. We’ve sent a message to your uncle Viserys to support your claim, but he’s been hard to find while he’s been sailing the seas. No one seems to know where he is.’

‘Even you Varys?’ I asked, smirking slightly.

The eunuch bowed his head. ‘Even a man with a thousand eyes can not take account for every man in the known world, my prince. But my little birds are still searching, and I hope to hear their songs soon.’  

I nodded. ‘So. What do we do for now then?’

‘We gather supporters, young dragon,’ Tyrion started. ‘Small tithes may need to be dolled out to the minor lords, but their price will barely dent the gold currently waiting in the royal vault. You may have to make conversation with the greater lords as well, show your lively spirit to assure their loyalty. Promises may have to be made, but hopefully nothing too major.’

‘Promises?’

Tyrion shrugged. ‘Marriages, lands, gold. Or the promise of a favour. The most dangerous of all bargaining chips, if you ask me. Once I gave favour to a whore instead of paying one night after losing my purse. Next thing I know I was riding a donkey through the city streets, trying to tame it for her. Trust me boy, provide the assurance of anything but the promise of a  _favour_. You may find yourself in a rather sticky situation otherwise.’

Jon rolled his eyes. ‘We don’t need to hear of the filth that you plow on the streets, dwarf.’

Tyrion looked outraged. ‘That’s no way you should talk about your mother, Lord Connington. I would have thought a man like you would have more respect.’

Lord Jon’s face scrunched in anger, quick to rebut. ‘You better hold your tongue im—,’

‘Quiet. Quiet. We’re not here to bicker and argue. We’re here for a reason, aren’t we?’ cut in Monford Velaryon, his fair hair falling to his shoulders.  

‘Lord Velaryon’s right,’ Grand Maester Gerold began, voice rasp. ‘We must focus on the realm. These are perilous times. Perilous.’

‘Your council is much heeded.’ Tyrion bowed his head, smiling. ‘Except these times are not as perilous as you might think.’

The Hand of the King frowned. ‘What are you talking of dwarf?’

The dwarf sat up in his chair. ‘This is a time of renewal. A time of change.’ Tyrion said. ‘On the contrary, these times may be quite good. A new King is ready to sit on the throne. New alliances can be forged, anewed. Life in Westeros may be even better. Lest there’s a war on the horizon I don’t know about.’   

‘Times are good, are they?’ Lord Connington practically spat. ‘Need I remind you our King is dead.’

‘What of it? That’s not to say I’m suggesting we don’t mourn Rhaegar’s death. I’m not a monster, which might be a surprise to some of the people in this room. All I’m saying, here and now, is we can only revel in the past for so long. Do you all not see what I see? Or does the half-man have a better view? Our King isn’t dead. He’s right there.’ The Imp of Casterly Rock nodded to me, and I felt small, so very small, as around the table their eyes met mine.

I kept my resolve, face firm, but inside fear clawed at my heart. I wanted to run. Run far away. To the Wall and beyond. Past the Frostfangs and into the Land of Always Winter. Truly, I was being stupid. But deep down I knew I’d rather be anything, anything at all, than sit on the Iron Throne. It felt like a betrayal to father, these thoughts twisting inside. But what could I do? They were there, no way to rid them. But they were all waiting. Waiting for an answer. Maybe even a speech, perhaps. And so, I did what all good Kings do.

Lie.


End file.
